


progress is a road

by heyitshex



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, Akechi Goro Needs a Hug, Akechi Goro Redemption, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffee Dad Sakura Sojiro, Detective Akechi Goro, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, POV Akechi Goro, Send Akechi Goro to Therapy Challenge, Suicide Attempt, Suzui Shiho: Lesbian Art Critic, Therapy, Touch-Starved Akechi Goro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitshex/pseuds/heyitshex
Summary: “Akechi-kun, if you can hear me, at least look at me.”I drag my eyes up from the half-empty mug. I nod. I smile, possibly—it’s hard to tell. Loki used to whisper to me in times like this when I couldn’t think of the right thing to do or say. I can still hear the faint echo of him in the back of my head, coaching me through a ten-million-yen grin and charming little anecdotes. I was so good at keeping my mask on back then. Eventually, imitation became reality, and my charm preceded me wherever I went. I remember a time where I could look at someone like Sakura Sojiro and convince them everything was perfect while I died on the inside. Loki’s laughter and ovation matched the beat of my heart in those moments.Now, the applause has stopped. My heart’s next on the list.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Suzui Shiho/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 9
Kudos: 148





	progress is a road

**Author's Note:**

> Akechi Fucking Lives AU: Sad Boy Edition by Yours Truly. Thanks for reading!

_(six months after **he** left)_

I can’t decide what’s more embarrassing: being found tucked in a fetal position in the corner of my shower, or staring across the table at the man who found me that way and only now realizing after two cups of coffee that it’s Sakura Sojiro.

“Akechi-kun? Can you hear me?”

 _Yes, I can hear you, I just don’t know what to say._ There’s a bag of groceries sitting between us. My apartment is dark, I guess, or darker than _usual_. There’s not really much need to keep the lights on when it’s just me here these days. No one calls me regularly except Akira. Sometimes Yoshizawa visits with food. Anyone else I might have known in my old life stopped caring when they realized I’m not going to respond to their messages. My fall from fame after turning myself into the police happened so quickly it gave me whiplash. _Did you hear that the Detective Prince was working under Masayoshi Shido?_ Over half the police force thought I was off the rails. The news stations had a field day. I prepared myself to be a social pariah, but in the end when the dust settled, the only thing I found on the other side was gaping loneliness. Today’s newspapers really are just tomorrow’s landfill.

“Akechi-kun, if you can hear me, at least look at me.” _  
  
_I drag my eyes up from the half-empty mug. I nod. I smile, possibly—it’s hard to tell. Loki used to whisper to me in times like this when I couldn’t think of the right thing to do or say. I can still hear the faint echo of him in the back of my head, coaching me through a ten-million-yen grin and charming little anecdotes. I was so good at keeping my mask on back then. Eventually, imitation became reality, and my charm preceded me wherever I went. I remember a time where I could look at someone like Sakura and convince them everything was perfect while I died on the inside. Loki’s laughter and ovation matched the beat of my heart in those moments.

Now, the applause has stopped. My heart’s next on the list.

The old man sits back in his chair and rubs the side of his neck. “I came to check on you because Akira-kun said you sounded strange on the phone last night.”

_Of course, he did. Only he would know._

“I just wanted you to know,” he continues, “that if you need someone, I’m here to help.”

Sakura’s teeth graze his lower lip, the wrinkles in his face creasing deeper as he stares at me. Every little line in his skin makes me want to vomit the longer I look at him. All of that worry, that _pity—_ like **I’m** the one who’s spent the last few years of his life running a useless café and mourning the death of some mad scientist who discovered a way to unspool the rotting brains of humanity. Anger scorches my chest, bubbling into my throat until I feel my old, forked tongue slithering between my teeth. _Is it you, Loki?_ My jaw creaks open, and I can _taste them_ —the wildfire of hateful words that will send this bleeding-heart nuisance from my sight and leave me in this tomb.

“…Sakura-san—”

_Here it comes. Cast him out. Run him off. Just like Loki taught me._

“—I need—I need help. _I need help.”_

Truth tastes like poison.

* * *

_(three days later)_

When Sakura dropped me off at Tokyo Metropolitan Matsuzawa Hospital, he agreed not to tell Akira where I am until I’m ready for him to know.

_“I won’t tell him anything, but what do you want me to say if he asks why you’re not picking up your phone?”_

_Social media cleanse. A tech-free sabbatical. Going off the grid._ I gave him half a dozen excuses to help him convince Akira ~~and maybe myself~~ that everything is alright. Despite the gnawing skepticism in my gut, I tell myself this is simply a temporary resolution to prevent a permanent problem. Sakura had nothing but words of encouragement, swearing up and down he would check in on me as much as possible. I crushed the instinct to tell him not to bother.

The initial evaluation with my counselor wreaked of formulated, archaic questions one would expect a psychiatrist to ask. _What was your relationship with your mother like? Do you experience thoughts of suicide frequently? Would you say you have trouble creating genuine social connections?_ The answers were just as bad: “I don’t remember” and “Yes, frequently” being the most automated.

My room at Matsuzawa Hospital is bigger than I imagined. There’s a small private bathroom, a window overlooking the courtyard, a desk, and a twin-sized bed. Everything is white and pristine to the point it makes my stomach churn. The all-too-bubbly nurse assures me that I’m more than welcome to decorate it with artwork and photos of my friends and family. ~~Joke’s on her.~~ Thirty minutes of assessing the blankness of my room inspires me to wander instead.

People pass me and don’t even turn their heads. At most, a nurse will smile at me if our eyes meet. I am so small and insignificant here. It’s a strangely safe feeling. Even after _the end_ , I still experienced lingering stares when I walked the streets of Shibuya. Passersby fancied themselves as clever when they would make up some mundane excuse to look my way just to confirm— _Is it him? The Detective Prince? The one that worked under Masayoshi?_ I knew what they were thinking without them even speaking it. But here at the hospital, no one sees me as anything other than another patient.

It’s nice to not be known.

The hallways of the hospital are the exact opposite of what I’ve seen in stupid horror films about _insane asylums_ and the like. Everything is very clean, very open—wide windows to let in as much sunlight as possible with a combination of artwork and motivational signs placed on the available walls. There are corkboards everywhere with schedules for classes and activities— _anything_ to keep us distracted from the fact we’re in a psychiatric ward. Maybe that’s my bitterness talking again. Every sign-up sheet I see for some painting, pottery, or potpourri topic as I meander the halls seems like a mockery.

The sinking sensation of lethargy bids me to stop as my feet ache. How long have I been walking? An hour? I’m not sure anymore, but my legs feel like putty, and I rest myself against a windowsill. The daylight pouring through tickles the back of my neck, seeping through the white cotton fabric of my plain t-shirt and warming my bones. It jars me to the core, makes me itch and want to claw at my own skin—when had my body grown so used to being cold?

I slip my arms around myself and stare at the far wall to distract my brain from the temperature adjustment. There are more posters with encouraging quotes and pictures, each one I read more revolting than the last. I wash them from my brain as quickly as I consume them until I stop on the image of a mountain with a tiny climber scaling the side: _Progress is a slope! Keep climbing!_

“Tch,” I sneer, shaking my head.

“I know—it’s horse shit, right?”

My head snaps to the side. Frankly, whoever just walked up on me is lucky I’m not armed. My days scouring Mementos still stimulate the jitters in me. If someone manages to catch me by surprise, my first thought is always, _get them before they get me._ I concentrate on keeping my breathing even and my expression neutral as I evaluate— _a girl._ Relatively short by comparison. Dark hair in a ponytail. Doe-like eyes downturned under thick eyelashes. Something chews at the back of my brain, makes me uneasy and lights me on fire with intrigue I haven’t felt in months. My instincts sharpen with every strand of hair I count falling over her brow. I know this girl. I’ve seen her somewhere before. _Where?_

“I beg your pardon?” I ask.

Doe-Eyes looks up at me and blinks. “The poster. _Progress is a slope._ Horse shit.”

“Ah, I see,” I say, trying to muster up my old charm. The attempt falls to the wayside as fast as it came to life. _What’s the fucking point?_ I turn my gaze back to her and my lips curl in a smirk. “…Bit pessimistic of you to say that. Is that why _you’re_ here?”

“No,” she says, shrugging one shoulder and shaking her head. “And I’m not being pessimistic. I’m more of a realist.”

 _Interesting._ “A realist. And how do you figure?”

Her silence is mouse-like to the untrained eye—so demure, so _sheepish_ that it’s annoying at first. But the way her brown eyes flicker ignites my curiosity. I recognize that ember-like glimmer as an echo of something I’ve seen in my own eyes: a little cynicism, a little sorrow, and a lot of _I’m so fucking done with all of this._ She takes a step toward the poster, reaching out and sliding her finger along the line of the mountain. “A slope is the worst example of progress. Doesn’t matter how far you climb, does it?”

“I imagine that the point is every inch we climb up the mountain, we’re closer to reaching our goal.”

“I rest my case. Worst example.”

My brow pinches together as she approaches one of the corkboards filled with sign-in sheets. She picks up a pen, idly scribbling along one of the lines. “Sure, progress is goal-oriented, but in our current context, right here, right _now—_ ” She gestures around us, and I assume she’s indicating the fact we’re in a psychiatric hospital. “Saying _progress is a slope_ is not the best example. No matter how high you climb the mountain, if you slip just a little bit, you can end up at the bottom again. So, does that mean your progress never mattered? It just—just seems like _horse shit_ to me, I guess. To think you could climb miles high and then it’s all gone because you trip once.”

We’re the only two people standing here, but I feel as if I’ve walked in on a very private conversation while she finishes whatever she’s writing. _Are you a figment of my imagination?_ The question seems absurd as it passes through me. “I suppose you have a point,” I agree, my voice barely breaching a whisper. “Then what do you think progress is, if not a slope? How do we measure it in our, eh— _current context?”_

The girl glances back at me finally, as if she’s only just recalled that I’m still here. “I guess…” Head inclining, she folds her hands in front of herself and sighs, beginning to walk in the other direction. “I’ll let you know if I figure that out, Akechi-san.”

She’s gone before I can speak, her form ghostly as she disappears around the corner. Part of me wonders if she’s real until a thought strikes me out of nowhere. I push myself from the windowsill and take two long strides toward the corkboard, locking my gaze onto the sign-up sheet. I run my finger along the text: _Drawing for Beginners, Tuesday and Thursday mornings, 11:00AM—_

I stare at the only name on the list.

_Suzui Shiho._

I grab the pen.

* * *

_(tuesday morning)_

Suzui and I are the only two people in the drawing class. She acknowledges me the moment I pass through the door—a simple bow of her head, a very small and strained smile. Polite and neutral if a bit cautious. The young man instructing us doesn’t really give us anything other than a few tips and tricks to try while we sketch a vase of flowers sitting on a stool in the middle of the room. Frankly, I’m glad for his relatively lax teaching methods. The less I have to listen to him talk about the essence of light and shadow, the more I can observe my classmate. From the little I read about her after following up on Kamoshida’s case, I can’t say I have enough information to form an impression of her. Still, that doesn’t quell my inquisitiveness. The last I had heard of her was Takamaki mentioning that she changed schools. It’s no business of mine why she’s here, but at the same time _why? Why **are** you here, Suzui-san?_

“Your drawing kind of sucks.”

My concentration is broken the moment I hear her voice. _What the hell is up with this girl?_ She stares over my shoulder with a deadpan expression, pink lips scrunched and dark eyes overflowing with casual scrutiny. If I cared enough about the drawing, I might be offended, but I stifle a derisive chuckle at her absolute bluntness. It’s oddly refreshing. “Ah?” I ask, turning in my chair to face her. “Are you an art expert?”

“No. Mine sucks too. Can’t get the shadows just right.” She holds up the sketch pad to show me the half-completed vase and flowers. Truthfully, it’s not that bad, but I’ve never been a keen sketch artist other than for basic utility purposes during detective work.

“Perhaps this class will benefit you then,” I tease.

Suzui snorts. “I only signed up for it because I felt bad that no one else did.”

I lean around my easel to look at our instructor, who is reclined across the room with his headphones in his ears. “I don’t think that our teacher would’ve minded either way,” I mutter and roll my eyes. “It all seems like such busy work in the end.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” she says, gliding her pencil along the paper. “Keep ourselves busy so we don’t think about what got us here in the first place.”

“I imagine you’re right,” I sigh, glaring at the instructor as his head dips forward. _Seriously? You’re falling asleep?_ There was a time in my life I might have shrugged off the obliviousness of others with a dazzling smile to seem more aloof for the cameras. Right now, I kind of want to take that half-finished coffee on the table and pour it on his sleeping face. “If he’s not even going to stay awake, why should we even bother staying here?”

Her hand pauses on the sketch pad, doe-eyes fixing on me thoughtfully. “You’re right. Let’s go get lunch.”

I blink. “What?”

“Let’s go get lunch. They’re serving ginger pork today and I want some before it’s all gone.” She closes the sketch pad and stands, sliding her hands into the pockets of her slate grey cardigan as she ambles toward the door. “Come eat with me. Unless you have something more important to get to?”

She’s got me there. The girl’s clever.

The cafeteria is relatively empty, and the line goes quick, much to my own relief. I’ve never really been a fan of waiting in line anywhere because while my patience is strong, my resolve to get things done and not waste time normally wins out. A comforting silence drifts between us as we retrieve our trays. The pressure to exchange pleasantries isn’t hiding or fading away, it never existed to begin with, and I’m swiftly growing at ease next to her. We take our lunch to the courtyard at Suzui’s request, and as we settle under the cascade of muffled sunbeams through a hazy overcast, it occurs to me that we haven’t been properly introduced. Clearly, she knows my name, and I know hers after ten seconds of snooping, but somehow we managed to skip basic formalities and go right to talking as if we’ve already met.

“You’re Suzui-san, yes?” I ask, figuring that forwardness isn’t much of a faux pas since she told me my art skills suck.

“Yes. Suzui Shiho.” She sets her cup of miso soup down on the picnic table and pushes wayward strands of hair behind her small ears. She’s delicate and soft around the edges, kind of like a fairy you read about in a children’s story. “Did you read my name off the sign-up sheet?”

 _Clever girl indeed._ “How did you know?”

“It seemed to be the most obvious reason why you’d ask.” Suzui tilts her head and smirks at me. “I might’ve gone back to look and see if you signed up for the class after I did. You seemed lonely. I hoped you’d come, if only to continue our conversation from yesterday.”

I smile in spite of myself. “Well, if I’m being honest, I was surprised to read your name. I know you—indirectly, that is.” My stomach churns as the truth slips past my lips. “We, uh…have some acquaintances in common, I guess you could say.” Akira’s smiling face flashes in my mind briefly, and I take a sip of water to hide the scowl that threatens to cloud my face.

Suzui wrinkles her nose, confused, analyzing me with those wide, darling eyes. “I see,” she says quietly, gaze dropping back to her tray as she puts her hands in her lap. “You’re talking about Ann-chan, aren’t you? Takamaki-san? I figured that if you did recognize me, you’d put two and two together. She used to talk about you sometimes.”

“She did?” I ask, unpleasantly surprised. I can’t imagine she had anything very flattering to say about me, but I don’t tell Suzui that.

“Yes. Only a little bit—how you started showing up at that café where Kurusu-kun lived,” she explains, shaking her head. “How smart you are. Just little things like that.”

It’s bizarre to think Takamaki ever had anything nice to say about me. During my investigation into the Phantom Thieves, the few times we crossed paths always resulted in her mentioning Suzui in some respect. I never really asked more than surface value details of their friendship; after all, I’d done enough research on everyone’s personal contacts while I formulated a seemingly flawless plot of betrayal. Maybe if I hadn’t been so focused on overthrowing my own father, I would have learned a little bit more about Suzui Shiho, so that in the event that we both ended up patients in the same hospital we’d have more to talk about than contrived motivational posters.

“I see.” I probe the last few pieces of ginger pork on my plate. “Does she know you’re here? I mean, I only ask because, well—I didn’t tell anyone of my whereabouts when I came except for one person.”

Suzui nods gently. “I suppose that makes sense for you, being somewhat of a public figure,” she says. “Ann-chan does know I’m here. Just her and my family, really. I couldn’t go without telling her what had happened…after I transferred schools. It was tough.”

“What happened after you transferred?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I realize my insatiable curiosity is overriding my common decency once again. My ability to gather an ounce of decorum and charm is apparently lacking after the last month as a recluse. “I—I’m sorry. Forgive me, it’s not my place to ask such things. What I mean is—” _Poison. So bitter._ The fork in my tongue is sealing the more I speak.

“You’re wondering why I’m here after Kamoshida confessed his crimes, aren’t you?” Suzui asks directly, not skipping a beat. “I’m not naïve, Akechi-san. I know you know what happened to me. You were working with police tracking the Phanthom Thieves. It only makes sense you looked into where it all started.”

My body relaxes and the bitterness on my tongue subsides. “Yes. But really, I didn’t want to pry or offend you, because you don’t owe me an answer.” My elbows rest on the table as I level my eyes with hers. The slightest spike of excitement runs through my blood. “However, I won’t deny I’m intrigued. Of course, as I said, you don’t owe me an answer. If you prefer we drop the subject, I’ll let it die.”

Silence settles between us again, more contemplative than comfortable this time. Her face is unreadable, a mystery that I’m trying to unlock. I watch her lips move and quiver with every breath, hoping to catch the first word that leaves her lips and hang from it as it carries me away. It burns me, scalds my heart and my brain as I commit every line and blemish on her skin to memory—an intense pleasure rooted in my craving for the unknown. Perhaps it’s the lack of social engagement I’d suffered the last six months, the slow trickle of my former motivation slipping away like water rot settling into wood and leaving a gaping void. I forgot until now how much I love looking at someone I can’t figure out. ~~Just like ** _him._**~~

Suzui mirrors me, arms folding on the table and resting before her, eyes meeting mine with determination. “Only if you tell me your reasons for being here too,” she offers, brow raising. “If I have to cough up my story, I expect one in return. Fair?”

I laugh—taunting, marginally genuine, but a laugh, nonetheless. It’s the first in a long time. “Fair is fair,” I agree with a deep sigh. “But I warn you, it’s not pretty. I’m quite broken.”

Her fairy-like lips turn into an ethereal smile. “Look around you, Akechi-san. You’re not the only broken person in the world anymore.”

* * *

_(six months ago)_

**Akira:** Hey, how have you been?

 **Akira:** Haven’t heard from you much since I left town.

 **Akira:** I saw the press conference where you announced your hiatus. Are you doing okay?

 **Goro:** Hey. Sorry I haven’t called you.

 **Goro:** Everything is fine. I promise.

 **Goro:** Are you settling in well back home?

 **Akira:** Great so far. My parents are thrilled. Country life is more boring now.

 **Akira:** I can’t wait until you can come visit me once your probation is up. How long is it?

 **Goro:** Six months.

 **Akira:** Six months? It’ll fly by before we know it.

 **Akira:** Maybe during my next break from school, I can come see you. We can go to Kichijoji like we used to.

 **Akira:** I miss you so much.

 **Akira:** Goro??

* * *

_(week two at matsuzawa)_

“Do you miss him?”

Shiho’s question pulls me back to reality as we lie in the grass outside of the hospital, gazing up at dark, gloomy clouds. The recreational quad is empty due to oncoming thunderstorm reports. We’re supposed to be in drawing class again, but we’re watching the sky instead. I thought the idea was absurd when she said that sometimes staring at the clouds right before it rains helps her think more clearly; and yet, here I am, staring at the clouds and remembering the last time I lied to Akira and told him I was fine.

“All the time,” I answer, hands resting on my stomach as the sky above us rumbles. “I thought about him every day we were apart. Even when I stopped answering his messages after the first few months on my own.” I close my eyes, picturing the last time I saw Akira’s face through the window of a train. “It started slowly. I texted and called him every day, probably for about three months or so. Then after everything around me began to disappear, every day turned to three days, then a week, then every two weeks…”

“And then you just stopped,” Shiho finishes.

I open my eyes and turn my head to look at her, nodding. “And then I just stopped.”

Her dark hair mingles with the green grass, wide eyes studying my face as we lie on the ground and listen to the thunder roll in closer. “I think I understand,” she confesses, voice low like she’s trying to keep us hidden from the rest of the world. “You must have been scared, right? Scared that when the six months was up, he would see you again. Is that right?”

My throat constricts. The urge to spit venom and run tugs at my core, but nothing of the sort comes out of me. The phantom limb of my old rage is barely a prickle that diminishes in the storm-scented wind. “Yes,” I admit. “I was scared. I _am_ scared. That’s why I’m here—when the last day of my probation came and I knew he’d be waiting for me to come—”

“You panicked.”

“I panicked,” I confirmed, a hoarse laugh escaping me at her diligence. “You talk as if you know exactly what I’m going through.”

“Not exactly,” she says, shaking her head. “But I understand. When I left Shujin following Kamoshida’s confession, everyone expected me to be okay. Everyone involved moved on so fast.” She tugs at the sleeves of her cardigan, fidgeting uneasily. “That was the plan—go somewhere nobody knows my name. Somewhere I won’t be marked by what he did to me. But that’s only on the surface, isn’t it? Every night when I closed my eyes, I relived the things that happened in that office. It ate away at me, hollowed me out and left me desolate on the inside. Even if he was brought to justice, it didn’t erase the scars he left on my mind or—” Her fingers trail down the sleeve of the cardigan and stop at her wrist.

“Justice,” I repeat, an ache in my chest as she traces tiny circles into the cloth. “Even if he confessed to his crimes, where does that leave you? No one ever thought about that, did they?”

“No one ever really does,” she snickers cynically. “When the bad guy in a story is defeated, we assume it’s a happy ending. But that’s not the case all the time. Damsels in distress don’t stop being in distress just because the villain is out of sight. No roguish thief or handsome prince was going to save me from my own mind. So, I came here to sort it out.”

Rolling onto my side, I prop myself up, examining her meticulously. “Maybe that’s not entirely true, Shiho-chan. Perhaps you are your own hero in your story now.”

Blinking, she sits up on her elbows and leans forward to meet my eyes with determination. “Then if I can be the hero in my story instead of the damsel, you don’t have to be the villain in yours anymore.” Thunder claps overhead as the first droplets of warm rain hit her rosy cheek and roll across her skin.

I’m beginning to understand Shiho better now.

* * *

_(the velvet room)_

I sleep and dream of darkness. In the cold emptiness of the void, a flicker of blue light brushes over me, tiny wings flapping and creating waves in the corners of my eyes. I reach for it but feel neither my fingers move, nor my arm extend. No tense of muscle or flexing of flesh. I breathe, and no air sweeps past my lips. I am removed from my body entirely, floating in quiet, frigid stasis. An unfamiliar voice cradles my mind in tender, dulcet tones.

_"I am thou, thou art I..._

_Thou hast acquired a new vow._

_It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity._

_With the birth of the **Star** , I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power..."_

I wake with sweat on my brow and my heart in my throat. In my empty room, I search the dark for an answer to a question I can’t even piece together. The only response is the echo of Hereward’s laughter in the night.

* * *

_(week three at matsuzawa)_

The counselor they have assigned me at Matsuzawa is a sweet woman named Yamagishi—a bit more mature than me and very placid, like the kindly older sister I never had. I assume they placed me with someone who would act as a mother figure after I told them about my troubled childhood. My former self may have been annoyed with the arrangement, but I speak with her more easily as the days pass. Shiho seems to think that it’s because I’m too distracted here to be _snooty,_ and I remind her often that she’s ridiculous.

Yamagishi smiles at me over her clipboard. “Akechi-kun, you seem much more mellow today than you were the last couple of times we talked.”

“Am I?” I ask, tilting my head and thinking over our first interaction. “I suppose I was more impatient with your questioning than I should have been. I admit that I am used to doing the interrogations typically.”

“That’s understandable given your unique career,” Yamagishi agrees. “But I didn’t hold it against you. Opening up in the beginning is never easy no matter who you are. Progress takes time.”

 _Progress_. The word draws a smile to my lips. “That it does. Maybe I’ve distracted myself enough here that I’m a little less on edge now.”

Her eyes drop down to the clipboard as she nods gently. “Mm, I see,” she says. “The last time we talked, you implied you have some difficulty maintaining connections with people.”

 _Fuck, I did say that, didn’t I?_ “Ah…yes. I believe so.”

“But I’ve seen you in the hallways talking to someone recently—Suzui-chan, yes?” Yamagishi asks, smiling brighter. “I couldn’t help but notice the last couple of times I visited that you were spending time with her. She’s a very sweet girl. Do you enjoy her company?”

 _What the hell is she getting at now?_ What a stupid question to ask. I wouldn’t hang out with her if I didn’t enjoy it, that would just be an absolute waste of my time. My face burns as embarrassment wells in my chest, warm and fuzzy and— _oh._ It occurs to me, the longer I mull over Yamagishi’s question, that what I’m feeling isn’t embarrassment at all. It’s not the same sort of warmth as when I think of Akira, but it’s something close to it. Soft and tender. Secure. A cozy grey cardigan wrapping around me, keeping me safe from the cruelty of the world, smelling like citrus shampoo and spring rain in the green grass.

“…Yes, I do. I think Shiho-chan and I are becoming good friends.”

* * *

_(later that evening)_

“Wait, wait, I’m going to drop the snacks—!”

I wrinkle my nose in mild exasperation, glancing back over my shoulder as Shiho tiptoes behind me down the darkened hallway of our wing. It’s nearly midnight and the nurses on duty have gone back to their offices. The hallways are desolate save for me and the most bumbling accomplice I’ve ever taken on while trying to stealth my way out of a building. There’s technically a curfew in place at nine o’clock, but I accepted the invitation to accompany Shiho on, and I quote, _“a super-duper-secret midnight excursion,”_ despite my better judgment. But we’re not getting anywhere if she keeps talking so loudly.

“Shiho-chan,” I sigh, “there won’t _be_ any snacks to eat if we’re caught and sent back to our rooms.”

She pouts, arms swathed around a half-filled bag of candy and cookies. “Sorry!” she whispers. “I’m not so good at this sneaking thing.”

_“Clearly.”_

“You’re so rude.”

I smirk at her. “Perhaps I ought to have set some ground rules before agreeing to be your partner-in-crime,” I tease. “You’re a very big risk apparently.”

Shiho narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “What kind of ground rules?”

“Well, let’s see. The first is obvious: don’t fall in love with me.”

She scoffs. “Oh, _as if—!”_

“Shh!” I put my finger to her lips firmly and peer around the corner at the door leading out to the quad. No one is around except for a security guard who has managed to fall asleep at his station; and frankly, thank goodness for that, because I’m evidently the only one between us who can follow an escape route quietly. “Let’s go.” I feel her free hand clutch mine as I guide us to the door, pushing it open and taking one last look around before gunning it for the tall maple tree in the far corner of the courtyard.

“Hah! We made it!” Shiho chimes, dropping the bag of goodies onto the ground and flopping down into the grass. “I thought for sure we would get caught.”

“You underestimate how good I am at remaining unseen,” I hum, and the tickle of Hereward’s laughter in the back of my mind elicits a shudder. I sink down next to her, fishing a piece of dark chocolate out of the bag. The night sky above us is vast, a cataclysm of fire and ice so far away that all we see is the beauty of it and none of the destruction. I can’t remember the last time I looked at the stars and felt so small. _“Stars, I have seen them fall, but when they drop and die, no star is lost at all from all the star-sown sky.”_

“That’s pretty—what is it from?”

“A. E. Housman,” I say, slowly lying back to rest in the grass, keeping my eyes upward. “It’s from a book of poetry that Akira-kun got me last Christmas. I’m particularly fond of it.”

Shiho reaches over me to snag a piece of chocolate from the bag. “It makes me kind of sad, but I don’t know why.”

“It’s meant to be a little sad, I think.” I nod my head, glancing down at her with a small smile. “Even though the stars seem to die with every sunrise, they’re still there even if we can’t see them. It’s sad, but comforting in a way, don’t you think?”

“Mm-hmm. Like love,” Shiho says, staring up at the sky with half-lidded eyes. “Even when you can’t see it, it’s still there, isn’t it?”

I fall silent, turning my gaze up to the sky again as a soft pang of yearning claws its way through my chest. _Love. Akira._ I still haven’t called him since my breakdown. It’s been over a month since we last spoke. Sojiro still calls me, still checks up on me every couple of days, and hasn’t even mentioned Akira to me in the time I’ve been gone. Part of me is grateful for that, for the fact I don’t have to acknowledge how bad my absence might be hurting him, or—or _worse._

_What if he doesn’t even care anymore?_

Shiho’s thumb brushes my cheek, and I register the tears suddenly welling in my eyes. The urge to flinch and recoil from her touch surges in me, but the lingering warmth of her hand makes me miss the contact as quickly as it’s gone. I catch her wrist before she draws it away and squeeze it gently, placing it back on my cheek. Shiho doesn’t stop me. She doesn’t move away or make a sound. Her fingers massage slow, delicate circles into my skin, soothing me until I close my eyes and surrender with a quiet sob. “Shiho,” I breathe shakily, “when you told Ann what happened—told her you were coming here—what did she say to you?”

Shiho tilts her head, resting it gently against mine as her fingers move to stroke my hair. “She told me she loved me, and that she wanted me to do whatever I need to get better. That’s how it’s supposed to be,” she whispers, brushing my bangs from my eyes and smiling sadly. “I have faith that Akira-kun will say the same thing to you too. When you’re ready, you should let him show you how much he loves you.”

I don’t speak. I just nod at her words as the tears flow. The cascade of starlight frames her dark, wispy hair, forming an effervescent halo around her. _A fairy._ She’s her most beautiful when she’s under the stars, I think. Swallowing, I curl up next to her and feel her arms slip around me as I tuck my head under her chin and cry.

When I return to my room, I open my suitcase and retrieve my cell phone from the interior pocket. I haven’t picked it up since I arrived at the hospital, preferring to just use the phone in the room to make or accept what few calls I deemed necessary. I couldn’t bare to look at my mobile until now. Taking a deep breath, I hit the power button and wait for the phone to turn on.

**_20+ messages._ **

My chest hurts.

**_10 missed calls._ **

The lump in my throat grows heavier as I hit the icon at the bottom of the screen and find Akira’s name.

**Akira:** Goro, is everything okay??

 **Akira:** Why aren’t you answering?

Tears sting my eyes as I read through the text messages, one after the other, every ounce of worry in them weighing heavier on me.

**Akira:** Sakura-san says you’re not feeling well, but he won’t tell me anything else.

 **Akira:** If something is troubling you, please know that you can talk to me.

 **Akira:** If you can’t tell me everything on the phone, I understand.

 **Akira:** But please respond so I know you’re okay. I love you so much, Goro.

My hands shake as I gulp, trying to ignore the sobs forming in my throat as I type out a text message slowly, read it once, twice, and then send it.

**Goro:** Tokyo Metropolitan Matsuzawa Hospital. Visiting hours are from 9:00AM to 3:00PM.

* * *

_(week four at matsuzawa)_

“Goro—!”

Akira’s arms wrap around me before I make it through the double doors into the lobby. The weight of his body against mine nearly causes my knees to buckle. It doesn’t feel true. He’s a dream, and I’ve been awake nonstop for the last six months. Gingerly, my arms slide around his waist, verifying he’s real, he’s _here_. The smell of herbal bath salts on his skin, the tickle of his unruly curls on my cheek—I clutch him, bury my face on his shoulder, and I inhale as deeply as my lungs allow.

“Akira—” I cry softly, tears staining his shirt as he holds me tightly to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m _sorry—”_

“Shh,” Akira hushes softly, pressing a kiss to my temple and running his fingers through my hair. “You don’t need to apologize. You did everything right. You’re safe—that’s all I care about, Goro—”

“I didn’t—I didn’t want you to see—” I can’t finish the sentence. Shame eats at my core, and I fear the echo of Loki’s laugh rising any second, but it doesn’t come. All I hear is my own weeping muffled against Akira’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about that right now,” Akira reassures, leaning back enough to cup my face in his hands and wipe the tears. “I understand you were scared. I wish I had realized it sooner. I’m just glad that you’re okay and you got help. I want to be here for you no matter what you’re going through, alright?” He presses his lips to mine, dotting slow, tender kisses from my mouth, over my cheeks, making me all but melt completely in his arms as my body relaxes against his.

I pull myself together after the twentieth peck, or so it seems, and rest my head on his shoulder, nuzzling against his neck as he cradles me in his arms again. _Safe. I’m safe now. I’m not the villain anymore._

* * *

_(the goodbye)_

Shiho stands by her bed, folding the last of her garments carefully and packing them into her suitcase as I watch her from the doorway. The sunshine radiating into her room makes it seem so domestic—the flowers on her desk, the photos of her family and Ann hanging on the wall—everything is so welcoming, it’s easy to forget we’re standing in a psychiatric hospital. I had been by her room once or twice during my stay, but never felt a reason to venture inside until now. Wherever Shiho seems to go, she makes it feel like a home.

“Are you leaving today too?” she asks, smiling at me hopefully.

“Tomorrow,” I answer, shaking my head. “Akira is coming to pick me up, then we’re going to take a trip together for a few days.”

Her eyes widen, and she beams at me gleefully. “That sounds wonderful! I’m glad to hear that, Goro-san!”

I smile back at her, stepping around her and reaching to take the hanging photos from the wall. “And what about you? Are you going to see Takamaki-san when you leave here?”

Nodding, she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear and looks at the photo of Ann, who smiles and winks playfully through the frame. “Yes. My family is coming to get me, then Ann says she has a very special dinner date planned for us.” Warmth clouds her gaze, pink coating her cheeks as she plants a little kiss to the picture and puts it in the suitcase.

“Sounds precious,” I tease fondly, nudging her arm. “Don’t tell her you almost fell in love with me though, she might get jealous.”

“Oh, shut up!” Shiho snorts, shoving me with a roll of her eyes as she stifles a laugh into the sleeve of her sweater. “Walk with me to the lobby, _my dear prince?”_

“Gladly.” I reach out and swipe the suitcase from the bed before she can reach, winking at her and offering my arm. “Right this way, _darling damsel.”_

“Charmer,” she mutters, and we depart the room arm-in-arm.

The clean, pristine hallways of the ward are still and serene as usual, nurses smiling at us as we walk, a few of them pausing to bid Shiho goodbye. She politely acknowledges them, that ever-present expression of neutrality and calm resting on her delicate face. Admiration swells in me as I recognize that dreamy, satisfied look in her eyes. It’s the same way she looks at the sky when she wants to feel free. Comforting, unburdened silence befalls us for the last time as we walk together. Our footsteps slow when we approach the lobby and I turn to her.

“Shiho?”

“Mm?” Bright, doe-like eyes turn up toward me.

“I think I’ve decided what I want to do with myself after I leave here,” I confess, the truth of my words tasting sweet along my tongue. “I’m tired of wallowing and thinking about the past. It’s time for me to move forward to something better.”

“Oh?” she says, perking up expectantly. “Please, tell me.”

My teeth worry my lower lip sheepishly, and I sigh as I summon some of my courage. “I’d like to keep working toward bringing people to justice for their crimes, but more importantly, I want to ensure the victims of those crimes are taken care of properly. Someone needs to be there to help even after the villains are gone.”

Her gaze softens as she releases my arm and faces me, hand slipping down to take mine and squeeze it. “I think that would be perfect for you,” she agrees, nodding her head firmly. “And I hope you’ll consider contacting me if you ever need a friend to help you out. I want to do whatever I can to make it happen.”

 _A friend._ My heart skips a beat in my chest. “Absolutely, Shiho-chan. We will meet again.” Our hands stay clasped, the beginnings of goodbye on our lips as we stare at each other. Every part of me wants to see her walk through those doors and not turn around even for a second, sprout tiny gossamer wings and fly into the sky; however, I can’t bring myself to let her go just yet. I start to release her hand woefully, and my breath catches in my throat when I feel her slender arms circle around my shoulders and pull me into a hug.

“I figured it out, you know,” she whispers in my ear, “why progress isn’t a slope.”

“Oh?” I ask, a sad smile creeping across my face as I put my arms around her in turn. “I’m all ears.”

“Because progress is a road, Goro-san,” she says, and the world grows silent around us with every word she breathes. “It doesn’t matter what direction you go on the road, so long as you’re still walking. Never forget that.”

I tighten my hold on her, nodding as I press my face into her hair. “Thank you, Shiho-chan.” _I’ll never forget you either,_ I think to myself, and deep within me, Hereward laughs in triumph.


End file.
